by Rue Allyn
Eager to settle things with Talon, Larkin rose, dressed, and raced to the hall.
Talon was nowhere in sight. Father Timoras, however, entered the hall just as she was about to search the bailey. They met in the doorway.
“Good day.” The priest’s disapproval simmered beneath the polite words.
Larkin refused to allow his frowns to increase her suffering. Talon would not be happy with her decision, but it was the right one and she must make him see that. She turned her sunniest smile on the priest. “Good day to you as well, Father Timoras. Have you seen Sir Talon?”
“Nay, lady. Not since he sought out Cleve just before sunrise. Honestly, the way Sir Talon neglects his responsibilities is shameful. He was absent all day yesterday and now again today.”
Larkin winced. Talon had made up some story for his long absence yesterday. He’d told her he hoped whoever had barred the door would make a mistake and show surprise at seeing them. “Know you what he wanted of Cleve?”
The priest sighed. “I am too busy to keep track of all Sir Talon’s comings and goings, but I believe he mentioned the caves. Now I really must be about my work.”
The caves! Where they were nearly drowned. “Wait, Father.”
Timoras turned at her demand. “Yes,” he said and rolled his eyes.
“Did anyone go with Sir Talon? Sir Amis perhaps?”
“There was a third man talking with Sir Talon and Cleve, but I cannot say for certain that the man was Sir Amis. Sir Talon blocked my view.” He turned abruptly and walked away.
“Thank you, Father Timoras.”
But her thanks fell on deaf ears. She took no time to worry herself over the priest’s manner. She had to find Talon.
Half the day later, she resigned herself to failure. She’d located Cleve, who told her that he had orders to keep her inside Hawksedge Keep, even if he had to restrain her. Sir Talon wanted to ensure her safety while he plotted how to catch the person trying to kill her. The knight had a good plan and Sir Amis to help him. He didn’t need Lady Larkin distracting him, no matter how good her intentions. So would my lady please, for once, make Cleve’s job just a bit easier and wait calmly in the solar?
Larkin waited, but she was far from calm. When she finally heard the hidden door open across from the solar, her nerves were stretched taut.
She hurried to the hallway, but the men were already descending the main stairs. Amis and Talon marched straight and tall down to the great hall. But the shorter, heavier man between them slumped, dragging his feet. Larkin shivered. They’d caught him. Talon had returned successful from his search for a killer. She grabbed a wrap to ward off the sudden chill and hurried after the men.
By the time she reached the great hall, their voices were raised in argument.
“I swear to you, ’tis all I was doing in those caves,” whined a voice she remembered so well that it froze her to the marrow.
Talon had his back to her, blocking her view of the speaker. He snorted. “Why would you go to such trouble to conceal meetings with a tavern wench from Hawking Sedge? No one would think twice about the girl earning a few pennies on her back, nor would they care that ’twas Baron Le Hourde who paid her.”
Sir Amis stood stonily on the other side of the man. “Aye, sir, while I may not approve of Talon’s methods in this case, your tale is a weak one at best. Tell us the truth and ’twill go easier with you.”
Larkin was close enough now to see the man lift his head, although she still could not see his face. She heard quite clearly the pitiful tone the man used. She knew the voice, but the last time she heard it, the speaker had sneered and laughed with arrogant contempt. She shook her head. This was Baron Le Hourde, the man to whom the now-dead earl had given her home. She’d never met him; how could she know his voice? The answer was mind-numbingly clear.
“You must swear never to tell a soul.” The voice actually trembled.
“You are hardly in a position to bargain,” Talon reminded him.
Larkin stepped cautiously around the men. She wanted a look at this baron, the man who held the deed to Rosewood Castle. She also wanted to know why Talon’s supposed friend Amis was treating Le Hourde so kindly?
“I ... I can’t say her name. She is a nun, and ’twould shame her if our meetings became known.”
“Ha, you would have us believe that you have a noble holy woman as mistress,” Talon sneered. “The only woman of such rank in the area is the abbess, and I doubt much that she would betray her vows for any man.”
“I swear ’tis true.” The baron spoke more aggressively and made to rise. “The woman is capable of the foulest deeds.”
“Sit down, baron.” Amis shot his arm outward, pushing the baron back into the chair. “Even if this were true, it does not explain why you barred the door in the Hawksedge caves yesterday.”
“I did not bar any door. I was nowhere near the keep. Why won’t you believe me?” The voice rose in defiance.
Fear froze Larkin in place. She felt her throat constrict with silent screams. Deeds. Foul deeds! Those were the words of the man who killed her mother.
“You! I will kill you where you stand!” Larkin charged past Talon.
Baron Le Hourde shrugged off Amis’s grasp and surged to his feet. He grabbed Talon’s belt dagger. The blade flashed in the sunlight, just as another blade had flashed years ago.
“No!” Talon stepped in front of Larkin and held her back.
Amis secured the baron’s arms, twisting the dagger from his grasp.
“Larkin? Did you say Larkin? Not Liar Larkin, surely?” Le Hourde said. “Has she fooled you, Sir Talon? She must have magic between her legs to cloud the thinking of a king’s herald.”
“Let me by, Talon. He killed my family and deserves to die.”
Talon struggled with Larkin until she exhausted her anger against him. Then he scooped her into his arms and sat down in the chair.
She shifted against his hold. “Loose me, sir. I cannot breathe.”
“You frightened me. You could have been killed.” Talon quieted and his arms relaxed, but he retained her within his embrace. “Dear God, Larkin,” he laid his cheek against hers. “Don’t you know better than to run at a man like that?”
“I want to kill him. What better way than to take him by surprise?” She glared at where Le Hourde stood restrained by Amis. “He killed my family. Then he stole my home.”
“What are you talking about? I thought the earl killed your family.”
“The earl gave the order, but it was that man who raped my mother while she bled to death.”
“Le Hourde?”
“The baron?”
“She’s mad,” Le Hourde said.
“I don’t know,” Talon hesitated.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” his friend shouted.
“You still don’t trust me, do you?” Larkin pushed from his arms. “You never really did.”
“She has lied to you before, has she not?” Le Hourde’s question wormed its way among the dagger-sharp retorts.
Talon stood; his gaze locked with hers. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right about that.”
“I certainly don’t understand,” Amis echoed.
“I think I do,” Le Hourde sneered.
Larkin gasped. “I don’t have to put up with this.” She turned to go.
Talon grasped her wrist and anchored her to his side. “Just what are you insinuating, Le Hourde?” He clenched a fist and loomed over the smaller man.
The baron rolled his eyes in Larkin’s direction, then studied his fingernails. “Why nothing, Sir Talon. But she is a comely lass, is she not? For one that has no name, that is.” He blew on his nails, then rubbed them against the fur of his surcote.
Talon released Larkin and advanced on Le Hourde. “Why you bastard ... ”
“I?” the man dared to mock even as he retreated in the face of Talon’s ire. “I am no bastard, sir. But methinks, of all folk, you shou
ld know one when you see one.”
“You’ll pay for that insult.”
“Here, here, what’s to do?” Cleve rushed between the two men. “I heard a commotion and came fast as I could.”
“Place Baron Le Hourde in manacles and take him to the dungeon.”
“B ... but he’s a baron.”
“And I am King Edward’s herald. The baron stands accused of murder. Until proof can be found either in his favor or against, I will have him held.”
“Aye, sir.” Cleve turned to Le Hourde and almost apologetically took hold of the man, escorting him from the room.
“Amis.” Talon turned to his friend. “Will you return to Rosewood Castle and take charge there?”
“I assume you would like me to question the people and find out what I can about Le Hourde’s recent activities.”
“Also ask after his mistress. If he has one, even if she is a nun, people will know. They may be more willing to speak if they feel he cannot wreak vengeance on loose tongues.”
Amis nodded and left.
At last, she was alone with Talon. She folded her arms across her chest. If he thought he would get a gentle loving from her, he must think again.
“We need to talk,” she said.
He nodded. “Let us go to the solar. Too many ears may hear in this hall.”
He shut the solar door, then reached for her. Larkin stepped away. “Please don’t touch me.”
He dropped his arms, and his shoulders sagged.
She almost felt sorry for him. He looked so defeated and bewildered. She squelched the urge to comfort him.
“What’s wrong?”
“You can ask that when you deny me the justice I’ve longed for these past seven years, when you send your friend—for I do not believe he is your rival—to take charge in my home?”
“Amis is indeed my friend and will betray neither you nor me. He will seek evidence so that justice may rule. Even if that justice proves your memory to be at fault. Despicable as Le Hourde is, not even for you will I condemn a man in haste. As I did with you, I will keep him secure until his guilt or innocence is proven.”
Talon was right, but she did not have to like it. Fury tightened the muscles in her forehead and neck. “Fine, take your time and seek your evidence. When you find it, you will know my accusations to be the truth. He killed my mother and, by some means unknown to me, succeeded in stealing my home for himself. I want it back.”
“Please listen to me.” He turned desolate eyes on her. “Too much has happened to simply give the castle to you. I may believe you are Lady Larkin Rosham, but I am not the only one involved. Imagine what would be thought if I hanged Le Hourde and returned Rosewood to you on your word alone.”
“So appearances are of more import than your trust in me. Your trust is a small, worthless thing.”
“You cannot believe me so callous,” he chastised.
She watched anger burn through the desolation in his gaze.
“Really? Each time my honesty is in question, do you leap to my defense? Do you protest on my behalf? Or do you quibble and quail and claim you need evidence. Have I cause to think you anything but callous when trust is at issue?”
“That is not true.”
“Is it not?” She raised a brow.
He studied her sullenly. “I trusted you in the sea when we nearly drowned.”
“Did you? You let go of me and trusted me to save myself, but you did not believe that I could or would even try to save us both.”
“But ...”
“Mine was the first name you thought of when the earl’s murder was discovered.”
“That was Timoras.”
“But you believed him. Not me.”
“Please, Larkin, we can resolve this.”
“Leave me be. I’ll not suffer your lack of faith any longer.” She left him there, slamming the solar door as she went. She wished she could close him out of her mind as easily. She was tempted to run to the abbess. Mother Clement had always provided comfort and sensible advice. But she knew what the nun would say. “You cannot resolve your problems by hiding here in the abbey.” The abbess would be right. To resolve all the difficulties facing her, Larkin needed proof of her identity and Le Hourde’s perfidy. So she’d best continue searching for it. Maybe when she found it, Talon would cease to doubt her. Somehow she suspected that even gaining his trust could not mend what was broken between them. Nonetheless she must try, for justice and Rosewood Castle at least.
• • •
Talon walked his horse down the track that led to the anchorage, where he’d been told he could find Mother Clement. He’d sat alone in the solar for some time trying to figure out how to persuade Larkin that he always intended to help her regain Rosewood. That he’d always meant to find justice for her family. But his circling thoughts and the ache in his heart kept him from developing any plan. He needed advice and sought out the wisest person he knew.
Mother Clement was seated on a stool outside the unshuttered window as he approached. She spooned liquid from a crock she held to the anchoress’s lips. He dismounted and tethered his horse. The scent of chicken broth wafted toward him. As he approached, he could see Dame Margery’s flushed face, her eyes bright with fever. Her lips moved between sips, as did Mother Clement’s. Did they pray? Was the anchoress’s state so dire that only God could help her?
At three paces’ distance, he stopped and waited for the women to finish their prayers. But they weren’t praying.
“You told me he was dead. That I would never again have to see him.”
“He is dead,” murmured the abbess.
“I swear on the Virgin’s heart that I saw him only days ago. You brought him to me yourself.”
“That was not the same man.”
“But he has guinea hair and eyes the color of purple pansies.”
“Aye, he does.” She cast a glance his way.
So the abbess knew he listened and did not care.
“But, the man I brought you is not the one you fear,” she continued.
“How can that be?”
“The one you fear is dead.”
“Is it his spirit then?”
“Nay, only a relative, seeking answers.”
“He asked me questions. Questions about the candles.”
The abbess put the spoon in the crock and settled the pot upon the ground.
She placed a hand on Dame Margery’s cheek. “You must rest now.”
The anchoress grasped Mother Clement’s wrist. “Nay. Tell me why he seeks answers. Why he asks about the candles.”
“He believes the candles killed a man.”
“How can that be?”
“There was poison in the candles that was released in their smoke.”
“Ah. Was the man who died one that I fear?”
“One of them.”
“’Tis God’s will then.”
“Who can know God’s will?” Mother Clement moved to leave, and Dame Margery pulled her back.
“I know.” A fire of belief and mystical faith blazed in her faded eyes. “I know God’s will.”
“Do not blaspheme, Sister.” The abbess’s shock pulsed through the air in front of the anchorage.
“God save me from such sin; I speak true. I have prayed for years that I might be the instrument of his justice. For my sacrifice, for all that I have given up, He has blessed me to His use.”
Mother Clement turned wary eyes on Talon. “Take care what you say, Dame Margery. Others may not understand your meaning as I do.”
The anchoress followed Mother Clement’s gaze. For a moment, Talon recognized the fear she showed on their first meeting, then her shoulders squared within the frame of the window. The fever-parched lips formed a tight grin. “God’s justice will visit you, too, sir, as it visits us all, the faithful and the faithless.”
Talon shuddered as if she had just pronounced his doom.
The anchoress released Mother Clement’s arm. “I am tir
ed. I will sleep now.” She turned and disappeared inside her cell.
Mother Clement reached for the window latch. “God keep you, Margery. I will check on you soon.” Gentle snores issued from within as she shut the portal.
Talon stepped forward before her and picked up the crock. “Allow me, good mother.”
“Thank you, child.”
He turned with her, stopping to untie his horse. Reins in one hand, crock in the other, he paced with her toward the abbey gates.
“What troubles you, my son?”
“Is it so obvious?”
“I have had too many years of examining souls to be unaware when a person’s silence cries out loudly for solace. Now tell me.”
Still he hesitated. How could this woman, sheltered as her life had been, give him counsel? “So much troubles me that I scarce know where to begin.”
“Begin where your heart tells you.”
“Lady Larkin.”
“Aha, knotty problem indeed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Naught but that she, like much in the world, is more complicated than she appears.”
“Aye, she is that.” How did a man ask a nun about courting a woman’s favor?
“What do you want of her?”
“’Tis a simple matter of her trust in me.”
“Trust is never a simple matter.”
They walked on in silence for a few moments.
“Tell me, Sir Talon, do you trust her?”
“As much as I trust any man, more than most I think.”
“Does she know this?”
“I’ve told her until my voice is sore.”
“Knowing is much more than being told. Look at all those who do not believe in God’s goodness despite hearing His word nearly every day.”
“So how do I make the lady trust me?”
“You cannot.”
The response took him aback. “What do you mean?”
“Even God cannot force faith from men. Belief must come willingly, without coercion, or ’tis worthless.”
“Lady Larkin said much the same.”